Avox
by CaitieCat78
Summary: What if the other 23 tributes DIDN'T die?  Can't say much else without giving it all away, but try it! The story's better than the summary, I promise.
1. Chapter 1

**This story takes place several years later. In my story, the rebellion had failed and the Hunger Games continued. This is just the prologue, so it might be a bit confusing. The real thing won't jump around between POVs, I promise. **

PROLOGUE

"We made it," she breathed, rolling onto her side to face him. Even this little movement caused her to wince, marring the thin smile on her too-pale face. "We're in the top three."

"Only one left," He agreed, forcing a smile on his own face for her sake. "Tonight, we'll be out of here."

"Yeah…" her smile faded.

"Just think," as he spoke, he sat up, gathering up all the weapons they had accumulated and strapping them to his belt, "tonight we'll be gorging ourselves on soup, and bread, and pudding…we'll be in _beds-_"

"Priam, I don't want you going alone," she cut him off.

"Heather, we talked about this…"

"Please," her eyes filled with tears as she struggled to sit up.

"Sssh," Priam soothed, grabbing her shoulders and gently easing her back down. Even through the two black jackets he had bundled around her, he could feel the heat of her fever. "I'll be fine."

"You have to let me go, too."

He spared a short, pointed look at the mangled remains of her left leg. The leaves he had wrapped around it as makeshift bandages were already slipping off, red with blood. _This_ was why he couldn't afford to wait anymore, why he had to go back to the Cornucopia where he knew Cinder would be waiting for him. He wasn't sure Heather had much time left.

"There has to be something I can do to help," she pleaded, a note of desperation in her voice.

"I'll be back soon," he promised, leaning forward to kiss her feverish forehead.

"Priam," her hand shot up to grab his wrist. "You have to win, ok? You _have_ to…"

"I will. I love you." It had bothered him at first, knowing their every conversation was being broadcasted to the entire world, millions of people listening to him say those three private words. He had gotten used to it, though. He had to. They were just too precious to let go unsaid, especially now.

"I love you, too." People had been calling them the next Katniss and Peeta, their romance the leading story at this year's games. Not that it guaranteed their survival.

With one more quick kiss, Priam fled the cave. Dagger clutched in his fist, he crept through the forest, every sense alert. He could not afford to be killed. If he did, what would happen to Heather? Cinder would find her eventually…or the blood loss would.

It was silent but for the distant singing of birds and the rustling of undergrowth by small creatures. He didn't care about setting traps and hunting them. They wouldn't need more food, not in the arena. The only thing he was hunting now was the final tribute.

He didn't want to have to kill Cinder. He hadn't wanted to kill _anyone_. He and Heather had decided on the strategy of hiding out somewhere and just focusing on keeping themselves alive long before entering the arena. Of course that plan hadn't worked; he had already had to kill two kids. And now, much as he hated to admit it even to himself, he was going to kill another.

As soon as Priam's quiet footsteps had faded, Heather was moving. Her first step was to tear a strip from Priam's jacket (which he had insisted she wear) to shove it in her mouth. She didn't trust herself not to scream, and she couldn't have Priam running back to see what was wrong. Biting down on it- _hard_- she forced herself to a sitting position. A little moan escaped her lips as the movement sent a sharp spike of agony down her leg, but the cloth muffled it.

God, her leg hurt. She had never, _ever_ felt anything that painful before. She supposed it was only what she deserved for not being a fast enough runner. She was just lucky Priam had arrived in time to kill the girl from district four.

Even thinking that made her hate herself. What had these games done to her that she would feel relief that a girl was dead? Only six days and already she felt irrevocably changed. She wished the rebellion eighteen years ago had been successful, that it had put an end to the Hunger Games once and for all. She hadn't even been born at the time, but of course she had learned about it in school. As usual, the Capitol had won.

There had been no talk of rebellion since the deaths of the once-beloved Katniss and Peeta. That was why Heather had to do what she was doing now. Priam had a plan, a dangerous plan, that the two of them could both make it out of the games alive. She had nodded and enthused about it, but she knew better. Just look what had happened to the last couple who had tried that.

She wouldn't let another rebellion, no matter how deserved, rise up. Too many people had died- for nothing. She could not have that guilt on her conscious.

So, clenching her teeth, she scooted out from the hollow they had dug in a tree, into the sunlight. She couldn't waste time thinking about how much it hurt. Any moment now Priam would reach the cornucopia.

Her vision swam, her ears ringing, the world feeling like it was on fire as she dragged herself to the middle of the clearing. She spat the cloth out on the ground. There was no one around, of course, but as she began speaking, she knew millions of people could hear her. "Whatever monster you created for the finale…send it here," she begged to the trees. "They can fight it out just the two of them. You wanted to get rid of me anyway, right?" There was no way the gamemakers would make the same mistake twice. They wouldn't let both her _and_ Priam live. And she couldn't bear it if _he_ died.

"Please, let it kill _me_."

After all he had done to take care of her for the past six days, this was the final gift she could give him. This was all she could do to help him win. The rest was going to be up to him.

She waited, every one of her few heartbeats left seeming to fill the silence.

She was beginning to think her request was going to be ignored and that everything truly was lost after all, when the undergrowth rustled. After a lifetime of watching the games, she knew whatever they had created as the final challenge was going to be horrible.

Heather pasted a grim smile on her face, knowing she was about to die.

Priam had reached the cornucopia. It appeared empty at first, and as he stepped forward, he felt horribly exposed. But then a shadow on the far side caught his eye.

"At last," the chuckle jumped across the clearing. A tall bulky girl, her dark hair spilling out of its knot, stepped forward. In one hand she clutched an axe, the dark brown stains on it visible even from fifty yards away.

Priam wasted no time on words, picturing Heather lying alone in the hollow, bleeding to death. Time was something they definitely didn't have. Her only hope now would be to get back to the Capitol, to a doctor. He bolted forward, knife raised.

Grinning manically, the girl from district twelve did the same. He knew it was odd, that the two last districts would be the only ones left. The rest of Panem must be going crazy with excitement at the unanticipated finale.

He wished they knew what it was like, charging forward to either kill or be killed.

As the creature revealed itself, Heather's smile faded. It was ten times worse than she had ever imagined it might be. As it attacked, she couldn't find it in herself to care if Priam could hear or not as she screamed and screamed.

It was only once she felt as if she had been flipped inside out, completely shredded, that she let her eyes drift shut for the final time.

Priam ducked as Cinder's axe swung down, feeling a burst of air at its passage two inches to the right of his shoulder. He jabbed upwards with the knife, hoping it would catch her in the stomach, ending it quickly. It just barely nicked her before she leapt back.

The two withdrew for a moment, circling each other, both panting, preparing for the next assault. Priam was just about to dive back in, when he heard it.

Echoing across all of Panem was a canon boom.

Priam froze, his entire body shutting down. The blast could only mean one thing, but it had to be a mistake. There were only three tributes left, and two of them were there. He felt the ground shift beneath him, his head reeling. No…

Cinder cocked her head, confused for a moment, before she smiled. "Guess your girlfriend's out of it now, huh?"

The words woke him up, brought him back to life. With a new hard fury, he leapt towards her. He became ruthless, emotionless, his knife slashing with no hesitation. She fought back, and some of her blows must have landed, but he couldn't feel them. His entire body had gone numb, uncaring whether he survived this or not. The only thing he knew how to do anymore was fight.

Soon enough, another cannon boom rang out.

"Congratulations to the winner of the ninety-third annual Hunger Games!"

**Yes, I acknowledge that was short and semi-confusing. I just wanted to set the stage for the rest of the story. Please keep reading, this was just the prologue! R&R! :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Ok, from now on it's going to be Heather's POV.**

My first thought when I woke up was that I should be dead.

The gamemakers' monster had killed me, and even if it hadn't, the leg injury from that girl's barbed-wire net surely would have. It made no sense whatsoever for me to be waking up at all, especially feeling more or less fine. But it didn't feel like I was just dreaming, either. My mind could not have created the room I was in, a sheer metal vault lined with two dozen empty beds. It wasn't as if I had ever seen anything like it before, and if I was dreaming wouldn't I have imagined somewhere…nicer?

I sat up in bed, glancing down to see I was clad in a simple white nightgown that I had no recollection of putting on. I swung my bare feet out from under the thick covers, wincing slightly as I stood up on the ice-cold metal floor. I had to grab on to a bedpost to steady myself for a moment, dizzy after lying down for however long it had been. My mouth was dry and my head achy, giving the impression that I was asleep or unconscious or whichever for quite some time.

I had just begun heading for the one door in the room, not knowing any other way to find out answers to the billion questions in my mind, when it opened of its own accord.

Then, I _knew_ I was dreaming. It was the girl from district four, the one who had tried to kill me with her net, the one I had watched die by Priam's knife. Her silky blonde hair was tied up in a neat braid, and there was no evidence of the patchwork of cuts that she had been wearing on her face when I had last seen her.

"Oh!" she seemed surprised to see me standing there…almost as surprised as _I_ was. A back corner of my mind noted this was the first time I had ever heard her voice in person. This was the girl who had tried to _kill_ me, and this was the first time we were ever talking? Well, kind of talking. Again, I was struck by how much the games had changed all of us.

"You're awake!" She started towards me.

I instantly took a couple steps back, groping behind me for something I could use as a weapon. My fingers found a metal comb on a night table, and I brandished it in front of me. It wasn't much of a weapon, but the teeth were sharp. At the very least, I could deliver a hell of a scratch. As I said, the games had changed us.

"Wait," her face fell a little as she took in my defensive stance, the smile she had pasted on fading as quickly as it had appeared. "I'm not going to hurt you…"

Even if this _was_ a dream, I didn't want her anywhere near me. If I concentrated, I could still feel the ghost of pain in my leg. No, I wasn't taking any chances.

She sighed, realizing I wasn't going to let my guard down. "Ok, I guess I deserve that. I'm really, really sorry…" I couldn't contain my gasp as she sat down on a bed and began to cry. "I didn't want to do it," she sobbed, "I just wanted to go home…"

Against my better judgment, my heart began to soften a little seeing her so upset and vulnerable. I was a major sucker for tears. Of course she had chosen herself over me; I couldn't begrudge her that. Not when Priam and I had made the same choice so many times over the course of these games. That definitely didn't mean I was about to lower the comb, though. The girl- I didn't even know her _name_, I realized- was still crying, babbling apologies with no sign of stopping anytime soon. With each passing minute I grew more confused and less hostile, until eventually I had to speak up before I gave in to the urge to run over and give her a comforting hug.

I cleared my throat, causing her to lift her wet face out of her hands. "Where am I?"

She sniffled, though the tiniest flame of hope sparked in her eyes that I was at least talking to her. "Somewhere in the Capitol. He wouldn't tell us exactly where."

"Are you…" I felt silly voicing the question, but I had to know "…real? Or is this just a dream?"

"Real," she snatched a tissue from a nearby nightstand and began dabbing at her eyes. "Though I understand why you would think I'm not."

"I…I watched you die. Priam _killed_ you…didn't he?" I was only vaguely aware that the hand with the comb had swung back down to my side, my defensive pose relaxed.

She grimaced. "Yeah, your boyfriend got me alright. And I did die?" it came out as a question, as if she herself wasn't sure. "But now…I'm alive."

My sharp wits, what had helped keep Priam and I in the game for as long as we had been, fled me so that all I could manage was an intelligent "Huh?"

"Look," she discarded the tissue and stood up, tentatively beckoning me forward, "I'm not the one should be explaining this to you. You need to talk to Peeta."

"Peeta?" Was that one of the other tributes? I couldn't remember.

"You'll see. I know you don't trust me, and I really don't blame you, but do you want to come with me? Everything will make sense, I promise."

"What's your name?" I hadn't decided if I was going to follow her or not yet, but I definitely wasn't going anywhere without knowing that.

"Sandy. Oh, and if you follow me I can get you some real clothes, too," she gave a tentative smile, expecting this would be persuasion enough.

I glanced down at the nightgown. It was of the coarse cotton I was used to wearing in district eleven, and it was _clean_. After wearing the mud-encrusted, blood-smeared jumper from the arena for six days straight, I was fine with anything. Maybe someone from district one or two would have been sold on the idea of new clothes, but she was going to have to come up with something better to convince me.

"Who else is here?"

"Everybody else from the arena who, you know, died," she held her hand out, eyes pleading with me to take it. So not Priam. I felt a pang of regret, though I knew that must have meant he had won. Where was he now? Already back in eleven, enjoying the benefits of being a victor? As selfish as the thought was, I would have given anything for him to be here with me.

But where was "here"?

I decided the one thing I needed was answers. I wasn't going to get those in this room. Even if this _was_ dangerous or a trap or something, I had already died. What did I have to lose?

I didn't take her hand, but I did draw parallel with her. Sandy seemed to realize that was the best she was going to get, so, sighing, she walked out of the room. The door led to a large common room, cluttered with televisions, tables, and chairs. There were several figures scattered about, but I didn't have as much time to gawk as I would have liked, because Sandy was continuing towards another door on the far side.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure I was still following as she knocked on the door. "Peeta?" she called softly. "Heather's awake. She wants to talk to you."

To me, she said, "He'll explain everything, you'll see."

I hoped she was right.

A moment later, the door knob twisted. "Come in," the voice that trickled out was surprisingly bitter, husky with age.

I hesitated, having been expecting a fellow teenager. Who was this?

"Come on," Sandy gestured at me to follow her as she stepped inside.

"Please sit down."

But I couldn't. I was frozen in surprise, not caring that I was being rude as I stared with shameless abandon. The figure in front of me wasn't just _any_ Peeta…he was _the_ Peeta. Looking as if he had just stepped out my history textbook was the man whose public execution we rewatched at the start of each and every Hunger Games.

Standing in front of me was Peeta Mellark.

**Confused? Sorry. It'll all be explained eventually, I promise. Please tell me what you think of it so far! And if you have any guesses as to why he's there/what's going on.**


	3. Chapter 3

"Heather," Sandy nudged me, and I couldn't even move to make myself cringe from her touch. "_Heather_…"

"No, it's ok," Peeta sighed. "It's not her fault she was…misinformed."

Hearing him speak again snapped me out of my trance. "Oh God, I'm sorry, I just-"

"Thought I was dead?" he gave a wry little smile.

"Erm…yeah." I was tempted to point out that I had _seen_ him die, watched it a dozen times in the front of town hall, before realizing that I had also seen Sandy die. Was it really that surprising then that other ghosts were resurfacing?

"I'm not," he lowered himself into one of the handful of armchairs, wincing as if the movement hurt him. Though he was only in his early forties, he acted like a much older man. His hair was already shot through with gray, and his eyes were full of wisdom…and pain.

Sandy nudged me again, reminding me that I should sit down, too. I did.

"Does that mean that Katniss-"

"No, Katniss is actually dead." I realized my blunder instantly. What else could have put that look in his eyes?

"I'm so sorry-" I backtracked hastily.

"No," he held up a hand, cutting me off. "It's fine. Now, how do you feel?"

"Um…good, I guess. Confused."

"Don't worry, you should be. But you're alive. That's what counts."

"Right, about that…_how_ am I alive? That thing got me…"

"Yes."

"So…?"

"Heather, do you remember when they gave you that injection at the start of the games?"

"Where they gave me the tracking device?"

"That's not _all _they gave you. At that point, the gamemakers also injected you with hydroantimonic bromide." He must have read my blank stare, for he continued to explain "It alters your nervous system so that when your body receives a substantial injury, it just shuts down. Not like dying, but as if you were unconscious. You enter that state immediately so that your body is…for lack of a better word, preserved…until the Capitol collects it and is able to heal it."

"So I _didn't_ die?"

"Not exactly, no."

"But…" my sluggish mind struggled to comprehend what he was saying, "_why_?"

"Why would they save you or why would they let everyone else think you died?"

"Both."

"To answer the first one, they find it 'wasteful', killing twenty-three able-bodied teenagers."

"Wait, so they've done this before? Saved the other tributes?"

"They've been doing it for the past couple decades, at least. I'm not sure when exactly the practice started."

"But if they don't want us dead, why have the Hunger Games in the first place?"

"It's all just to put on a good show. And it demoralizes the districts, something the Capitol always tries to do."

"But they don't tell anyone we're actually still alive?"

"Correct. If anyone were to find out, it would basically ruin the entire purpose of the games in the first place."

"So our families can't know we're alive?" My stomach clenched as I realized how upset my parents and little brother would be. Not to mention Priam…

"If they found out, what would stop them from telling others? There's no guarantee the secret would be preserved…and then rebellion would happen."

"But _you_ started a rebellion-"

"Not intentionally. And it was a mistake," his eyes, focusing on something over my head, were light years away. "An awful, horrible, terrible mistake."

The room fell silent for several minutes, each of us trapped in our own thoughts. Mine were back in district eleven, imagining my own funeral. Who would go? Who would cry? Would anyone give touching speeches that made me out to be a much better person than I actually was- no, _am_? And would anyone, _anyone_ even consider the possibility that I was still alive and in one piece?

I knew the answer to that last one, at least. A big fat 'no'.

I didn't want to be the one to finally break the silence, but I just _had_ to know. "What is their plan for us now, then? What are they going to use us for if no one can see us?"

Peeta blinked back to the present, and even Sandy gave herself a little shake to refocus. He took a deep breath, and I instantly could tell I wasn't going to like this answer. "Well, they always need more Avoxes."

"They're going to make us _Avoxes_?" I couldn't help it, my voice jumped about an octave, making me wince at my own shrillness. "They're going to cut out our tongues?" Even as I said it, I was suddenly completely conscious of my mouth forming the words, realizing just how precious a skill that was.

Peeta let out another heavy breath through his nostrils. "Yes," he admitted, "but look on the bright side- you're alive."

He was right, of course. I hadn't ever expected to be _alive_ right now. But…my tongue? I definitely didn't want to lose that.

"When?" was all I could say, even though I knew I should be speaking more while I still could.

"That's the good news. You have another year before it happens."

"Why so long?"

"By then, most people should probably have forgotten your face. At least, they'll have forgotten it enough that they won't recognize it attached to an Avox uniform. And the next Hunger Games will be beginning, so that'll provide a nice distraction."

"Another Hunger Games," I mused under my breath. "It doesn't end, does it?"

I hadn't really intended for the others to hear, but Sandy said "No, it doesn't."

"Maybe one day," I sighed.

"Maybe," she agreed. Peeta remained silent.

"Um…can I ask one more thing?"

"Sure," he agreed readily, though his eyes were distant again.

"Why are _you_ here?"

"Heather, you recognized me the moment you stepped inside here. Do you really think I could be out there mingling with the rest of the world, even as an Avox? Someone would notice me. At least by giving me this job, keeping an eye on the extra tributes, I'm still useful without being seen."

"But why didn't they just kill you?" It was probably a rude question, but I was curious enough that I didn't care.

"Same reason as you. It would be a waste."

"But…you were, like, a _rebellion_ leader…"

"They killed my wife. That was enough." The bitterness in his voice filled the room, leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I suddenly wished I hadn't been so stupid, hadn't asked.

"I'm sorry," was all I could think to say.

"Of all people, _you_ shouldn't be. You've been in love, real love it looked like. You should know how empty a simple apology is when it's all that is left of your love."

He was right. It was hard to imagine, but if Priam was dead…What I definitely wouldn't want to hear was for a stranger to say "I'm sorry".

Priam…did he look like Peeta now? All sad and guilty? He loved me, I couldn't deny that, but how _much_? Certainly not as much as Peeta loved Katniss, right? Whereas once I would have been thrilled for him to love me so unquestionably, I now dreaded that. He thought I was dead, but I hoped he would get over it. There was nothing I could do for him now, I could only pray he would eventually forget me and move on with his life.

I was alive.

But he would never, ever know.

**R&R? What do **_**you**_** think Priam's feeling right now? And poor Peeta :(**


	4. Chapter 4

"Heather?" Sandy's voice startled me from my thoughts. "Do you want to meet the others now?"

"Others?" I echoed dumbly, mind still lingering in district eleven.

"The other tributes."

"Oh." What I wanted to tell her was 'hell no', but I knew I would have to face them eventually. "Alright."

By this point, I had realized that Sandy at least wasn't going to hurt me. She would have done it already, wouldn't she? I obviously still didn't trust her, but I did follow her back out of the room.

As we reentered the common room, I had the chance to study it that I had missed before. It was open and cavernous, reminding me of the gym we had trained in right before the games. Unlike the rest of the building, this room was carpeted in warm beige. In one corner was a long mahogany table, lined with two dozen chairs. A little ways to the right of it was a cluster of smaller tables, each ringed by three or four chairs. Several of these were occupied, familiar figures hunched over them. Each person was at their own table, though. Nobody seemed to be interacting with each other.

Along the far wall was a massive screen, on which news from the Capitol was blasting. It didn't look as if anyone was actually watching it. Several smaller screens speckled the other walls, tuned to a variety of different programs.

"Well?" Sandy turned to gauge my reaction. "What do you think?" she waved her hand, encompassing the entire room.

"It's…" I couldn't think of the right adjective. The room itself had a cold, hard feeling to it, masked by the illusion of hominess it tried to portray. Similar to the girl standing beside me, I didn't trust it.

"I know," her eyes were understanding. "But you get used to it. Come on, let me introduce you to everyone!" she grabbed my arm in her excitement, and I instantly recoiled.

Reluctantly, she let go. "Sorry. I know you don't trust me right now, but I promise I'm not going to hurt you. No one is. Or," she frowned, "I don't _think_ anyone is. It took me a while to start trusting the others, too, but they're mostly okay. This isn't the arena anymore, you know? Everyone's different now."

"Yeah," I rubbed at the place on my arm she had touched me, trying to erase the memory of her fingers closing around it. She really _hadn't_ hurt me, of course, and I knew she hadn't been trying to, but it was hard to shake the mistrust that the games had brought.

"Come on," she repeated, though she didn't touch me this time. She led me over to the area of tables, stopping at the first one. It was the girl from district three, a chunky red-head, and she was turning something around in her hands…

"Malla," Sandy said softly, "Heather's awake."

"Good for Heather," the girl didn't look up.

"What are you doing?" I couldn't help but ask.

"I am _trying_," she grunted as she struggled to twist one of the knobs on the black box in her hands, "to build a radio."

"A radio?"

She didn't respond until Sandy repeated my question. "I need to tell my parents…" Malla trailed off, frowning as she continued fiddling with the radio.

"Good luck, Malla," Sandy beckoned for me to step away. "I don't think she's supposed to be doing that," she said thoughtfully once we were out of hearing distance of the girl. "I bet the Capitol wouldn't allow any radio waves to pass through here anyway."

Still, I had to admire the red-head for trying. "She was from district three, right?" I wanted to clarify.

"Right. She died on the first day, at the Cornucopia."

I hadn't asked for that bit of information, and I really hadn't _wanted_ to know it. I couldn't help but wonder if that was going to be part of every introduction now. Was that going to become what defined each of us to the others? How long we survived in the games and what eventually killed us?

"And this," Sandy stopped at another table where a tall boy was flipping idly through a weaponry magazine, "is Tim."

"Hey," The boy looked up and smiled, sending a pang of dread rocketing through me. I recognized him. I didn't know what district he was from, but I _did_ know how he died. He hadn't been smiling when I tripped him, sending him tumbling straight into Priam's knife. He was the only one I had played a direct part in killing, and I had had nightmares about it ever since.

"I…I'm sorry-" I suddenly realized why Sandy had burst into tears, feeling them start to build behind my own eyes, the regret putting a lump in my throat.

"Seriously, don't be," his smile softened a bit, no trace of anger in his eyes. "You were only doing what you had to."

"But I _killed_ you-"

He stood up, gesturing at his body. "I'm alive, aren't I?"

"But I-"

"I don't understand why everyone here is still so hung up on the games," he said conversationally, speaking to the room at large, though most people were too far away to hear. "We all did what we did, we can't change it now. Let's just all blame the Capitol and be done with the whole ugly business, shall we?"

His grin was so wide and friendly, I couldn't help a small answering smile of my own. "Good idea," Sandy said.

"Yeah," I agreed, though I wasn't sure how easily I would be able to forget.

"It's just good to see you finally awake, Heather," he said.

Which reminded me… "How long was I unconscious, anyway?"

"Um…two weeks?" he looked to Sandy for confirmation. "Give or take a couple days."

"Two _weeks_?"

"You weren't in the best condition when they brought you here, I don't think."

"But two whole weeks…" it was hard to imagine what might have happened in that massive amount of time that I had been unconscious.

"You didn't miss much. Not in here, at least," Tim said kindly.

"Thanks…" It wasn't what went on in _here_ that really concerned me.

"Oh, and I'm district seven by the way," he added. "In case you were wondering. I know _I_ probably would have been."

"Thanks," I repeated.

"Come on, Heather," this time when Sandy grabbed my arm, I didn't recoil. She took me to the next table, where a girl who couldn't have been more than twelve was drawing an amazingly detailed picture of a tree on a scrap of paper.

I remembered her, she was the other district seven tribute, little Maple. "Hi, Maple," Sandy's smile grew the widest I had seen it.

"Sandy! Do you like my drawing?" she lifted it up, showing it off.

"It's great. Really good, Maple," Sandy patted her on the head.

"Thanks," an impish grin spread across the child's features. With her connect-the-dot freckles and short pixie haircut, she looked like a little elf. "You've been sleeping for a while, haven't you?" she smiled at me.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Your boyfriend was on TV. I think he misses you." This blunt, childlike statement caused my heart to contract.

"Oh," was all I could say.

"He misses you a _lot_," she repeated with emphasis. "It's nice that you had each other, though. I wish my brother could have come to the games with me."

I thought again of how unlucky it had been that both Priam and I had been chosen. Although, maybe it wasn't _that_ unlucky. Much as I hated to admit it, I wouldn't have been overly surprise had he volunteered after I was called. That's what he had said he would have done, at least.

"Then again, maybe it's good Bobby couldn't come. He would be here, too. I'm glad he's safe at home with Mom and Dad. I'm scared."

She admitted this so suddenly, so naturally, it put another lump in my throat.

Because I was scared too.


End file.
